


Drift, and Never Cease

by randi2204



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 2K Round-up Challenge, Angst, Drift Side Effects, M/M, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marshal Travis has pulled Chris away from working on the Wall, and Sierra Seven has been restored to her former glory.  But who's going to pilot her with him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drift, and Never Cease

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** At the time this was written, this statement was true: Everything I know about Pacific Rim I learned from the novelization. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** The Magnificent Seven belong to MGM, Mirisch and Trilogy. Pacific Rim belongs to Warner Brothers and Legendary Pictures. I am totally having fun.

Chris stared up at the enormous bulk of Sierra Seven.  After that day –

 

 _Sarah oh my God Sarah_ Sarah

 

– he’d never thought he’d see her – _it_ – again.  He was sure it would have been hauled off to OblivionBay with the other Jaegers that were beyond repair.

 

“It was.”

 

The voice right next to him startled him, but Chris managed not to jump.  He slewed a glance over at whoever it was from the corner of his eye.  The man had managed to come up beside him without a sound, and now he stood next to him, thumbs tucked casually into his belt, as if an ex-Ranger coming back into the fold more than three years after practically kicking himself out was something he saw all the time.

 

“It was what?” Chris asked turning away from Sierra Seven with something like relief.  His voice was a bit rough, but hell, he’d been up for nearly a full day by now.  Working on the kaiju barrier at 40 stories up from sunup to sundown tended to wear a body down.

 

But the man didn’t seem to notice, just nodded toward Sierra Seven.  “It was in OblivionBay,” he answered. “They pulled it back out to do the refit.”  Then, more softly, he added, “You were lookin’ at it like it was a ghost.”

 

Chris forced his gaze back to the Jaeger, gunmetal grey, covered with scars from all her battles… except everything from that _last_ one.  “She is, a little.”

 

The man beside him nodded, but didn’t look away from Sierra Seven.  Chris traced the line of her left arm, the one that had been torn off by the kaiju La Llorona, just before it had sliced through the Conn-Pod and ripped Sarah out –

 

 _Sarah I can’t feel Sarah she’s_ gone

 

– but it was as smooth and perfect as it had been that morning at Los Angeles Shatterdome.  The right arm hadn’t received any damage, save what had happened when he’d overloaded the plasma cannon to finally kill La Llorona.

 

“They’ve been workin’ hard on it,” the man next to Chris said.  “Accordin’ to the specs, they’ve reduced the recharge delay on the plasma cannon, and made a bunch of other upgrades besides.”

 

“Have they?” Chris looked up at Sierra Seven’s head, wondering if he’d actually ever get a chance to see those improvements up close.  _Gonna need a new partner to do that,_ he reminded himself, and resolutely squashed down the thought that by doing so he was betraying Sarah.  _Travis needs someone… maybe_ me _… in Sierra Seven.  I’m gonna have to Drift with someone if I want to fly her again…_

 

He gave the man next to him a speculative look.  “You gonna fly her with me?”

 

The man next to him smiled, but didn’t laugh. Lines creased around his eyes, and he turned to look at Chris square.  “Naw, I’m already jockeying that one,” and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward one of the other Jaegers in the Shatterdome.  Chris recognized it as Lucky Peso.  “But I know they’ve got a buncha candidates lined up for you to test out.”  He stuck out a hand.  “Vin Tanner.”

 

Chris took it in a firm grip.  “Chris Larabee.”

 

Vin nodded.  “Yeah, recognized you. Travis called you back?” He rocked back on his heels a little.

 

“Yeah, he did… but I didn’t know…” Chris nodded toward Sierra Seven when his throat threatened to close.  “He didn’t say.”

 

“He’s got a habit of that,” Vin replied.  “C’mon, you should meet the others.  Reckon we’re gonna be flying this mission together, we oughtta at least know everyone’s names.”

 

Chris took one last look at Sierra Seven, and saw a hint of something yellow up on the gantry.  It was a woman, he discovered when he focused on her, and the yellow was her blond hair curling over her shoulders.  He’d met her when he and Travis had landed at the Shatterdome – well, walked by her on the tarmac, anyway, while she’d been trying to get Travis’s attention.

 

Vin looked at him over his shoulder, then directed his gaze up the gantry when he saw where Chris was looking.  “Mary.  She was in charge of the refit.”

 

“She did a good job.”  Chris fell in beside Vin as they headed toward Lucky Peso’s bay.

 

Vin snorted at that.  “”Course she did.  She wants to be the one riding Sierra Seven… with you or without you.”

 

Shocked at Vin’s words, Chris shot one last look at the figure on the gantry, but it was gone.

 

***

“No, Mary.”  Marshal Travis’s voice floated from his office, sounding stern.  Chris stopped short.  He hadn’t been summoned to meet Travis; he’d just been going by to get to the practice area, but thought that Travis would probably want to observe the trials anyway.  _But he’s not alone._   “And that is my final answer.”

 

“But sir…” A woman’s voice, determined.

 

“No.  You were in charge of the refit, but I never let you believe that you would be piloting Sierra Seven once the refit was done.  You will not be riding that Jaeger, Mary.”

 

“I know Sierra Seven better than Larabee does!” Mary burst out. 

 

Chris felt his hands fold into fists at her strident tone, the lack of belief in her words.  _No one_ knew Sierra Seven like _he_ did.

 

“This is _final_ , Mary.  You will run the candidate test for Larabee in the Kwoon, but you are not going to be involved any further.  Is that clear?”

 

The last time Chris had heard Travis speak so coldly to someone, it had been _him_ , that early morning outside the LA Shatterdome, when he and Sarah had moved the tanker to safety before engaging La Llorona.

 

“Yes, _sir,_ ” Mary bit out.  Chris flattened himself against the wall, because there was nothing he needed _less_ at this moment than to have to deal with Mary’s resentment.  She stalked out of Travis’s office in a fury, though at least she had the sense not to slam the door, and took off down the hall toward the training area.

 

Vin had told him yesterday that Mary had found four or five candidates that might be Drift-compatible with him, and, almost in spite of himself, he was eager to meet them.  He tried not to think it, but somewhere deep in his soul, an idea – a dream – had taken root.  _Maybe one of them will be able to heal that gaping empty space in my mind that Sarah left._

 

He followed Mary down the hall at a distance, so she wouldn’t know he was behind her, that he’d overheard her set down, but it was hard not to hurry with the sense that his future was there waiting up ahead.

 

***

The first candidate didn’t have a lick of sense, or respect, and Chris set him his ass without a thought.

 

The second was familiar, and Chris had the sense that they’d met at the RangerAcademy, but even though he’d learned from the first’s mistakes, the two of them didn’t have that _spark_ , the essential connection that meant they’d truly be compatible in the neural handshake that drove the Jaegers.

 

The third just tried too hard, like he was trying to force a match that didn’t really exist, but the fourth…

 

At first, seeing him, Chris had wondered what he was doing there, if maybe one of the scientists working for the 4CDC had gotten included by mistake.  The fellow was shorter than Chris, and his face looked… _soft_ ; that was the only word for it, like hadn’t seen combat, hadn’t been inside a Jaeger.  When Mary – looking as sour as if she’d been sucking lemons – had called his name, he’d stripped off his shirt and grabbed his hanbō, and Chris had had to reconsider.  The man – Ezra, that was what Mary had said – certainly didn’t look like a soft scientist with his shirt off; his shoulders were broad, well muscled, as was his whole upper body, narrowing to slim hips, and he handled the hanbō with some skill.  He grinned at Chris as he twirled it in his fingers, a cocky little grin that Chris couldn’t stop himself from answering as he dropped into his stance.

 

And all of a sudden, it wasn’t a test, it was a _game_.

 

He and Ezra fooled around for a minute or two, testing each other’s defenses before they set to with a will.  Strike and block and counterstrike, and though they could each dodge out of the way of the other’s attack, it was only _barely_ , an instinctive awareness of where the weapon would be in the last split second before it hit.

 

How long they’d been dancing back and forth over the practice mats Chris had no idea – it could have been a minute or an hour or a day – but then, with shocking suddenness he recalled the last time he’d felt so… _alive_.

 

 _This is the one._   He knew it the same way he’d known with Sarah.

 

“Enough.”  Marshal Travis’s order, quiet though it was, drew them both up short. 

 

Panting for air, Chris straightened from his crouch, staring at Ezra as he did the same.  Sweat trickled down the side of Ezra’s face, and he was breathing just as heavily as Chris, but his green eyes gleamed with a kind of victory.

 

 _He must’ve felt it, too,_ Chris thought, and held out his hand in a gesture that was hardly necessary now.  They’d practically fallen into a Drift right there in the Kwoon; it was clear to everyone present who was going to be jockeying Sierra Seven with him.  Ezra took his hand, tension easing from those broad shoulders.

 

“Ah’m lookin’ forward to goin’ into the Drift with you,” Ezra said, a sweet Southern accent rolling over his words like honey.

 

Chris nodded.  “You too,” he replied with a grin.  He risked a glance toward Travis, saw him nodding, as if what he’d seen had only confirmed what he’d already known.  Mary stood next to him, her face tight, mouth pursed in a way that could only mean she was trying not to cry.

 

“Neural handshake in Sierra Seven at fourteen hundred hours,” Travis announced, as the other candidates shuffled out.  He studied each of them for a moment, then flicked his glance down, and under that sharp gaze, Chris realized that he and Ezra were still holding hands, and that was what had caught the marshal’s attention. 

 

He was loath to let go, but did anyway, fingers trailing against Ezra’s as his hand fell back to his side.  For his part, Ezra looked just as reluctant, his fingers curling as if to hold on a little longer.

 

Travis was still looking at them, and belatedly, Chris remembered that Travis had ordered them to confirm what they both already knew.  “Yes, sir,” he replied.  “Fourteen hundred.  We’ll be ready.”

 

The marshal nodded silently, and there was a faint air of satisfaction around him as he left the Kwoon.  Mary lingered after everyone else had gone, but Chris immediately turned his attention back to Ezra, who was pulling his shirt back on.  “Hungry?”

 

“Famished,” Ezra answered, giving another one of those infectious grins.

 

Chris nodded toward the door.  “Good thing we got some time before we have to suit up.”  They headed toward the mess, and if Chris found that his hand hovered at the small of Ezra’s back like it had with Sarah, well, that wasn’t anyone’s damn business but his.

 

“Mister Larabee!”

 

He didn’t even hear Mary’s call.

 

***

“You all set, Chris?”

 

The deep voice over the comm was familiar from every deployment from LA Shatterdome, and Chris almost laughed.  “Ready to ride, Josiah.”  The thinking cap and the under-suit with all the circuitry to pick up their movements and translate them to the Jaeger hadn’t changed.  Even the Conn-Pod hadn’t changed much, and despite the new black drivesuit, Chris felt like he’d stepped back in time.  All that time working on the kaiju barrier seemed like a dream, a nightmare.

 

Ezra stepped up beside him in his own sleek black drivesuit and surveyed the Conn-Pod, the controls that would translate their movements to Sierra Seven and make her move.  The faceplate of his helmet couldn’t hide the excitement flashing in his eyes as he stepped into the left-hand section of the drive platform.

 

 _I always took the left side with Sarah,_ Chris thought, then shoved it aside.  Remembering Sarah, remembering what had happened that horrible day wasn’t going to help make the connection with Ezra.  And Ezra was his co-pilot now.

 

Josiah’s voice echoed again through the comm in his helmet.  “Initiating drop in five, four, three…”

 

Then they were free-falling, almost; the Conn-Pod moorings had released and they slid down the rails toward the slot between Sierra’s shoulders that would hold them, forming Sierra’s head.  Because he was listening for it, he heard Ezra suck in a breath.  “Yeah,” he said softly, “gets me, too.”

 

Before Ezra could reply, they slowed in their descent, stopped, and Chris heard the familiar hissing and clanging that heralded the Conn-Pod’s connection with Sierra’s body, all the pathways lining up.  Sierra seemed to quiver around him, like she was waiting for him and Ezra to Drift together and bring her back to the fight.

 

“Conn-Pod in position.” Josiah’s voice was calming.  “Initiating neural handshake.”

 

Chris took a deep breath, let it out slow.  A second later, he was in Ezra’s head, and Ezra was in his.

 

Memories of people and places and things swirled around them, floating out of the grey clouds of the Drift and being reabsorbed after only a moment.  Chris let them wash over him, didn’t let them linger –

 

_Don’t focus on them, acknowledge them and let them go_

 

– and next to him, he felt Ezra doing the same.  It wasn’t smooth, not yet, but Ezra wasn’t letting the memories take control, and Chris felt something immense swell up in his chest.

 

“Sierra,” Josiah called.  “Test neural handshake.”

 

He took a defensive stance on the drive platform, felt Ezra’s recognition of what they’d done in the Kwoon only hours before, felt him settle into the same position.

 

Sierra mirrored their movement, her massive servos obeying without a moment’s hesitation.

 

Distantly, he heard a ragged cheer and knew it was coming from the command center, where every eye was on Sierra and her pilots.

 

Of course, at the moment when everything seemed to be going great, that’s when it all went to hell.

 

 _See how easy it is?_ Chris thought, knowing that it would translate right over the bridge of the Drift and into Sarah’s mind…

 

Around him, Sierra shuddered, and a wave of doubt swept over him, not his own but his partner’s, _Ezra’s_.  Their Drift started to falter.  They weren’t tight together any longer; they were a split second out of tune, but that was too much.

 

“Sierra Seven.” Josiah’s voice sounded worried over the comm.  “Focus...”

 

 _No, Ezra, it’s all right,_ Chris thought, trying to reach him, draw them back into step.  _You and me, right now… we can do this._

 

 _Ah’m not Sarah._   Even in the Drift, Ezra’s projected thoughts had the same Southern accent, and for just a moment, Chris caught a peppering of _doubt rejection hurt._

 

 _No, you’re not Sarah._   He swallowed, and didn’t care that Ezra knew how hard this was to admit, _glad_ of it.  _Sarah’s… she’s the past.  This is us, right now._   For just a second, he let himself remember her – her bright smile, determined blue eyes, sun-burnished hair tangled over the shoulders of her drivesuit – showed her to Ezra across the Drift.

 

The Drift stabilized again, and he woofed out a breath in relief.  Sierra stopped resisting, settled around them.

 

A pretty blond woman glided out of the Drift-fog, and he knew it was Ezra’s mother.  She had a sharp, calculating gaze, a beguiling smile, perfect hair and makeup.  _Mother… wouldn’t have approved of my choice,_ Ezra projected, and his grief seemed to match Chris’s own.

 

 _I’m sorry,_ he whispered, felt Ezra’s acceptance as a shiver.

 

“Whatever you did,” Josiah interrupted, “you did good.  You’re back in alignment.”

 

 _Good,_ Ezra thought, then, with a quiver of uncertainty, of need, of a kind of _shame_ that he had to know, he asked, _Good as Sarah?_

 

 _Easy,_ Chris replied, his thought colored with something close to satisfaction.

 

Again that doubt.  _Better?_

 

 _Different,_ he thought firmly.  _Damn close to perfect._   He was rewarded with a brief surge of pleasure, and smiled.  “What do you say we put Sierra through her paces?” he asked.

 

And again, he felt Ezra’s acceptance, though he answered aloud as well.  “A fine idea… Chris.”

 

***

The post-Drift hangover had its hooks into Chris something fierce.  It buzzed along his every inch of his skin, inside his head, and he couldn’t get comfortable in the tiny quarters he’d been assigned.

 

All the Rangers got Drift hangovers, that feeling of still being inside their partner’s head even after they’d broken the neural handshake, the weirdness of having memories that didn’t belong. But from the first time he and Sarah had completed their neural handshake, he’d had the same reaction, a need to make those memories mesh, to… reinstate the Drift in some way, maybe, or maybe to just be as close physically as they’d been mentally.

 

 _Being inside someone else’s head is already about as intimate as you can get,_ he’d told Sarah.  She’d laughed, but he’d won her over.

 

Now he had all Ezra’s thoughts and memories rattling around inside his head, trying to find a way to make them settle…

 

And that flash of pleasure he’d gotten from Ezra once they’d gotten their Drift down solid kept lighting up his mind.  It was a spark that Chris wanted to feel again and again.

 

The knock on his door came as a surprise.  He took a step toward it, then stopped, staring down at himself.  The soft cloth of his sleep pants did nothing to hide his state, tented over his cock.  He’d been resisting the obvious, simply because there was no way to hide anything in the Drift.

 

The humming along his nerves decided him.  _Just convince them to leave me alone, let me deal with this in peace._

 

But that buzz should have been a clue, because Ezra stood on the other side of the door, hand raised to knock again.  And Chris just couldn’t snarl at him until he went away, just wasn’t capable of it.  Instead, he kept the door partway open, hiding his lower half, and leaned his forearm against the door frame.  “Ezra,” he said, voice low and rough.  Ezra shivered at the sound, and Chris had to stifle a groan when he licked his lips.

 

“Ah’m havin’ a most… disconcertin’ time,” Ezra started.  He seemed to have a difficult time pulling his gaze away from Chris’s bare chest.  “The trainin’ at the RangerAcademy mentioned the possibility of… of memories from the neural handshake lingerin’ but…”

 

Lost in his own Drift-induced arousal, Chris couldn’t help but read Ezra the same way: the color on his cheeks, how the centers of his eyes had all but swallowed the green, the pulse he _swore_ he could see thrumming just under his skin. “But you didn’t think it’d be this strong,” he said, hardly aware of the words he spoke.  He was still expecting the Drift to carry his thoughts directly to Ezra and surprised that they weren’t connected.

 

“No, I didn’t.”  Ezra took a breath and forced his eyes up to meet Chris’s.  “Though… I believe you know a way to… to alleviate this particular… after-effect.”  He licked his lips again.

 

 _What was that about not hidin’ anything from the Drift?_ Chris asked himself distantly.  He’d already shared with Ezra what he’d been trying to prevent having to share in the future.

 

And _that_ , he realized slowly, meant that he didn’t have anything to lose now… because Ezra was _here_ , at his door, _asking_ for what Chris already wanted.

 

He smiled and straightened so that he could open the door wider.  “C’mon in.”

 

Ezra brushed by him, the whisper of clothing against his bare skin.  He had barely closed the door when he felt Ezra’s hands on him, running along his sides.  Turning around, he leaned back against the door, hardly noticing the chill of the metal against his back, and pulled Ezra against him, one hand settling against his back, the other combing through his thick hair and pulling him up for a kiss.

 

They were Drift-compatible.  _Didn’t realize that meant everything…_

 

***

August 6, 2013

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a quote by William Butler Yeats:  
> “Hell is the place of those who have denied;  
> They find there what they planted and what dug,  
> A Lake of Spaces, and a Wood of Nothing,  
> And wander there and drift, and never cease  
> Wailing for substance.”


End file.
